Evelyn

  Table of Contents

  Evelyn

  Prologue

  Dust

  Ripped

  Dubious

  Bath

  Luxe

  Arrangement

  Dangerous

  Change

  Silhouette

  Avoid

  Blondie

  Invisible

  Cornered

  Trendy

  Evade

  Doubt

  Games

  Deal

  Cornered

  Reckless

  New

  Elusive

  Temper

  Rumors

  Matters

  Retreat

  Overexposed

  Guests

  Escape

  Epilogue

  Bond, I Am Not

  I Am a Thief

  About C. L. Stone

  Also By C. L. Stone

  Evelyn

  A: 19

  L: 23 25

  The crossed-out number had me thinking of keeping score. A... Ace? Who was L?

  Or was it anything? It could have been the latest score to a local sports game for all I knew.

  I tapped my fingernails against the marble of the counter and considered the information, an odd collection of notes.

  Then I noticed the indentions, notes that had been written out on the previous page.

  I bent over, angling to see if I could pick out what it was. No chance. The lights were too bright in the bathroom to make it out.

  I returned to the bedroom and went to the desk off to the side. I found a desk set with a notepad in the drawer and fished out a piece of paper and a pencil.

  I went back to the bathroom and wrote down what had been written before. Then I worked carefully, using the edge of the pencil against the piece of paper, doing my best with the smaller torn pieces. I used the graphite to outline the dents in the page,

  There were a couple of phone numbers jotted down, a book title and author name.

  But in the corner was another scorecard.

  A: 19

  L: 22

  A daily score.

  Again, I suspected Ace was the A, but I could have been wrong. This could have been how many times Soma has beat a rival at chess online.

  I doubted it. The initials didn’t make sense.

  Who or what was L?

  Evelyn

  Charleston's Leading Ladies

  ⸙

  Book One

  ⸙

  Written by C. L. Stone

  Published by

  Arcato Publishing

  Copyright © 2019 C. L. Stone

  http://clstonebooks.com

  Published by Arcato Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  Books By C. L. Stone

  Charleston’s Leading Ladies

  Evelyn

  Celeste (previously published as Smoking Gun)

  Rainee

  The Academy Ghost Bird Series:

  Introductions

  First Days

  Friends vs. Family

  Forgiveness and Permission

  Drop of Doubt

  Push and Shove

  House of Korba

  The Other Side of Envy

  The Healing Power of Sugar

  First Kiss

  Black and Green

  Love’s Cruel Redemption

  Unsung Requiem (Coming Soon)

  The Academy Scarab Beetle Series

  Thief

  Liar

  Fake

  Accessory

  Hoax

  Tempest (Coming Soon)

  Other C. L. Stone Books:

  Melody

  Girl in the Bearskin (Once Upon a Harem)

  Thank you for downloading this book. Keep in touch with the author to find out about special releases and upcoming events, including spoilers, author chats and swag.

  Click here to sign up for the newsletter.

  It’s the best way to stay up to date with the latest from C. L. Stone.

  Website: http://www.clstonebooks.com/

  Twitter: http://twitter.com/CLStoneX

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/clstonex

  Prologue

  Revenge planning took up a lot of hours. I’d barely slept.

  Inside Tissu Deux, Gretta’s currently closed fashion boutique, five of us sat on plush white couches. Near us was a low wooden stage that Gretta often used as part of her designing process, modeling high-end and celebrity clients. Today, we’d pulled the couches together and faced each other. Behind us were mannequins on pedestals, each displaying outfits different from each other, from ball gowns to casual beach wear. The stage’s lights were on, the brightness diminished by the overhead lights way above us in the high ceiling.

  Gretta sat on one of the arms of the couches, poised in black slacks and dark gray blouse, a fashionable purple sash in her hair to give her some color. She always downplayed her own wardrobe, which I was familiar with, given our similar careers.

  “Let’s get acquainted, shall we?” Gretta said. She pointed to a lanky girl sitting on the first couch. “Local debutant, or socialite slash local celebrity...and also the target of attempted murder.”

  The girl grimaced. “Ahh,” Celeste said. “Kinda. Maybe.” She had a doll-like face, dainty features and lips that seemed always slightly puckered for a kiss. I wasn’t sure if that was natural or if she was more poised and at the ready all the time and used to it. She wore an oversized t-shirt where the collar had woven gemstones that glittered, another Gretta creation, along with some slouchy cotton pants. Refined, but cozy.

  “No maybe,” Gretta said to her. “Don’t downplay what happened.” She reached out to her to touch her arm. “Not to mention when you uncovered some shenanigans within your own father’s company.”

  Celeste frowned, making creases at her lips and between her brows. “I should have caught it happening.”

  Gretta turned away from Celeste and motioned to me. I crossed my arms, sitting back on the couch, on which I sat alone. It was oddly sounding more like a therapy session. Maybe we needed it after what we’d been through.

  I’d worn a loose-fitting, bleached cotton mesh top above a more comfortable halter tank shirt, and shorter jean shorts than I was used to, but Gretta thought looked cute. I also wore large sunglasses for the brightness of the room hurting my eyes, and also to hide dark circles that even makeup wasn’t able to hide.

  I’d trust no one else to such opinions. I’d become more reliant on her picking out my clothes the last few weeks while my mind had been preoccupied.

  Gretta introduced me. “Evelyn. Atlanta transplant. Fashion wardrobe coordinator and whistleblower for the industry.”

  “I make no claim to the second,” I said, lifting the sunglasses to show her I was concerned with her phrasing. “I just spoke my mind.”

  “And drew quite a lot of attention,” Gretta said. “Including the attention of someone who manipulated everyone around him using you as bait. Used you for his amusement while you went through some personal humiliations, one after another, and ruined your career.”

  I retracted my head and rolled my eyes, and then slowly lowered the sunglasses to hide behind again. “While I might disagree with the phrasing, it is completely accurate.”

  “And Rainee,” Gretta said, turning to one of the two girls on the couch furthest away. The taller one poised herself, crossed her legs at the ankles as her name was mentioned.

  The woman next her hooted. “You tell them,” she hollered. She was the only one that refused a f
ashion treatment by Gretta, instead choosing to mix and match to her own body some bright, tight clothing and a healthy adornment of gold jewelry. “She’s a crazy bi—”

  “Future!” Rainee raised a smooth two fingers at her. With a calm and collected tone I was in envy of, she spoke. “Wait, cousin,” she said. “Remember, we’re amid local royalty here. I ain’t never seen a finer collection of high quality. We must be civil. Let’s practice some restraint on our language here.”

  Future bounced her head a few times on her neck. “You’ve got that right. We are the finest ladies here in the city. Don’t mind the gun in my skirt, girls. Right now I’m joining your team. Team Kick Some A—”

  Rainee sent her one terrifying look, and Future jerked her head and then mouthed the rest of the vulgarities she wanted to convey to us.

  Gretta continued, “Rainee is the most well-known woman in local event circles. She’s part of every charity event, even for the local boys only clubs objectifying...” She coughed shortly. “Let’s just say romanticizing a history well not worth the effort.”

  “That ain’t all,” Future called out. She elbowed her cousin next to her. “Tell her about the people we’ve had arrested.” She didn’t wait for her to talk. “All those hellions who wanted to bring her down because she was a woman. Or black. Or beautiful. Or sexy.”

  Rainee wore a sarong dress, red and tied in such a way that accentuated her curves. She also wore her hair up, tied with a similarly colored cotton cloth, but open so her natural curls flowed out the back like water. She was the most poised, the most eloquent of us all, I felt. “My dear Future, we don’t boast about the misfortunate and misguided individuals.”

  Gretta coughed once to get our attention. “Local social snobs tried to have her committed to an insane asylum.”

  At this, Rainee looked away. “I barely escaped.”

  “The point is,” Gretta continued, “we’ve a problem in this town. Some of the boys have been very, very naughty.” She straightened. “No one gets to misbehave in this town. Unfortunately, the ones we’re going after, the city sees them as perfect angels. And they’ve tainted our reputations. Time to return the favor.”

  “Darn tootin’,” Future said. She pointed a long, red-painted fingernail at the armrest of the couch. “You’re lucky you called me in. Rainee had the common sense to get some help with this.”

  “You’re very welcome to join us,” Gretta said. “And I’ve called in some extra help, so we’re waiting on them to arrive. In the meantime, I thought it was worthwhile if we caught each other up on what exactly happened, and who the major players are.” She motioned to me. “Evelyn, why don’t you start?”

  I coughed delicately, unsure where to begin. “I don’t know. It’s a little unbelievable.”

  Celeste shook her head and sat back in her space on the couch. “No worse than mine.”

  “Did we not mention the insane asylum part?” Future said. “Did you hear that?”

  Rainee leaned in, a sympathetic pout forming on her face. “Darlin’,” she said softly, “I understand if you’re nervous, but I think we’ve all been through some bad times. If you don’t want to talk about it now, I can go.”

  “Nice of you to offer,” I said. “But I’ll go. I don’t mind sharing.”

  And I did.

  Dust

  A couple months earlier...

  I stood near a bus station sign on a gravel lane. Sweat soaked through my clothes. The snap to my Hermès Dogon Duo wallet was wearing down with how many times I opened and closed it, waiting for signs of life. The shorts’ pockets were too snug for it, but stuffing the wallet into my drenched bra could damage the leather. It was too big for that anyway. Holding it in my hands or leaving it beside me on the ground seemed to be my only options.

  New life lesson number one: Hitchhiking might be the best way to disappear without a trace, but it comes with hazards.

  My cheeks caught fire as I recalled the phone call I got from a friendly neighbor, warning me not to go home.

  “The police are piled up outside your door, inside your apartment,” she’d said with disdain oozing from her voice. “There’s camera crews lined up around the street.”

  Word was that my boyfriend—ahem, ex-boyfriend—was selling prescription pills when I wasn’t home.

  I was floored when I heard and caught a live feed link on Twitter. The police streamed out of my apartment with everything I owned: my pink T-shirt Feral Childe dress, my cotton cashmere M. Patmos pants, and other precious designer clothing crumpled into clear little plastic bags to be locked away.

  He’d kept his stashes in the pockets of my clothes and inside my shoes. I had to watch as garments were carried out. The ones in the very front, on display in my closet. Very special garments I wore with care, as they were the most expensive. Did he stash them in all of them? Did they have to take in the actual clothes? Couldn’t they just take the drugs?

  What an idiot! We had a good life. I had a great job. He had a great bod. And he didn’t mind that I occasionally went away on weekends alone to some beach resort or sometimes to vineyards or spa retreats. It worked for us. He wasn’t for forever, but was my good for the moment.

  There was no way my job would take me back after the fiasco ended up on the evening news. There was no way I’d take him back after destroying everything. Scandals weren’t in my five-year plan. I needed a clean slate.

  And a better taste in boyfriends. Or did I even need one?

  It was as good a reason as any to make a sudden life change, only my dream of disappearing into the night to start a life somewhere else with a fresh slate wasn’t working out so hot.

  More like too hot...

  Miles from nowhere. Everything was baking, sweltering. The Georgia summer sun spared me no mercy. It was going to take a lot of damage control to fix my skin. I wanted nothing more than an aloe bath and a gallon of ice water.

  Cell phone dead. Dust was somehow getting under the rhinestone cover. I hoped it wasn’t broken, and at the same time, I was tempted to leave it behind. I didn’t want to turn it on later to field the calls or be told I was fired.

  I didn’t need to be told. I knew I was.

  Maybe I could sell it, but I’d still need to turn it on to delete the data.

  I cried when one of my Valentino Rock Stud flip flops broke. Pure torture is piecing back together $300 shoes with a tiny bit of duct tape I recycled from a dingy truck seat.

  Disappearing without a trace was costing me a fortune.

  I debated walking or trying to wait things out where I was. It was around noon, so the heat was only going to get worse. I’d give anything for water and shade. I dipped my hand into my shirt, pulling the band of my bra to give my boobs some air, and raised my shirt all the way up to my chest. The more expensive the bra, the heavier it gets while sweating. I was tempted to take it off, but I didn’t want it to get dirty. I was hoping to salvage it. I’d need to look good if I wanted to land another job. Walking meant wearing the material out while it was wet, and I was already burned; I didn’t need rashes on top of it.

  I sat down on a hump of gravel, propping up my arms with my knees and lowering my head. I needed to hide my face from the sun to prevent much more burning.

  If I didn’t get out of this sun, I was going to die of heat exposure.

  A far-off rumbling sounded like distant thunder, and my heart lifted. Rain? Perfect. I needed it.

  Instead, in the distance, a cloud of dust was billowing, the source heading in my direction. It had to be a car.

  Even better!

  I sprung up and stuffed my dead phone into my pocket. I ran out into the middle of the road, waving my arms.

  My heart thundered, echoing the sound of the car tires over the gravel. With the pot-holed gravel road, it was taking forever for the car to get close.

  I was tempting fate again. It could be another jerk. The last person I climbed into the car with told me once we were out here in the middle of nowhere to
give him a hand job. I refused, jumped out of the car when he persisted, and he left me stranded.

  Maybe this time I wouldn’t refuse a hand favor if someone could at least get me to a town.

  What had my life come to?

  I waved more as the car got closer, and I put out a thumb. That was a sign for hitchhiking still, right?

  The car seemed to speed up and turned slightly as if veering to go around me.

  Was the driver going to try to pass me?

  Don’t do this to me! Be a civilized human being, please!

  I widened my stance, keeping to the dead center of the road. The narrow lane meant they couldn’t ignore me. There was a ditch on either side they couldn’t avoid unless they wanted to hurt the car.

  Unless they planned to crash into me.

  I clenched my jaw and waited, waved, and hoped.

  The car zoomed toward me, and I suddenly felt like we were playing chicken.

  Sports car. Old model. I made a wild, hopeful guess it was a man inside.

  I took a chance and lifted my shirt, exposing my breasts to get his attention.

  Desperate times...

  If he wouldn’t stop to help out of kindness, I was pretty sure my boobs would at least get him to slow down.

  When he was a few feet away and still rolling in, I was a breath away from leaping from the road. The driver jammed the breaks. The car skidded at the last moment and drifted sideways along the road. The side of the bumper stopped just a few feet away from me.

  My pulse raced. An unpleasant taste took over my mouth. My hands shook. I could have died.

  At least he stopped. I lowered my shirt and wiped my face to clear some sweat.

  The car was a black Montego with shiny chrome trim around the underbelly, at the bumpers and around the windows. The vintage car was in great condition, besides the fresh white dust from the gravel roadway, enough to pile up around the Mercury logo.

  The car door flung open and a guy popped out, a little over six foot with dark pilot sunglasses on his tanned face.

  Brown hair, simple tapered to the nape style, with frosted blond highlights that stuck out in different directions, but it was hard to tell if the light color was natural from sunlight or dyed. Strong jaw with a stylish, two-day unshaven face, enough to make him look more mature and give shadow to his cheeks.